


Silver and Gold

by Stizz_qitn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-22 22:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9628778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stizz_qitn/pseuds/Stizz_qitn
Summary: With the great night upon them Jon is told a the dark secret his father took to his grave and with the knowledge comes consequences.*Follows some of the leaks that were released on reddit last fall





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything related to ASOIAF/GOT

For Jon's entire life he was told he would amount to nothing. Being the bastard of a high lord didn't even change this; "A bastards a bastard' he was told repeatedly throughout his life.

He can't remember the faces of those who had told him this, just the feelings that swelled throughout his entire body, waves crashing over him, breaking his heart over and over again. Sadness, shame and even guilt. He was the walking and breathing outcome of his father's lust and betrayal to his lady wife.

 

Despite being a bastard, he was lucky enough to be the bastard son of Eddard Stark. The man was gentle and kind to Jon, trying his hardest to let him feel that Winterfell was his home as much as it were his true-born siblings. Ned had raised him with the same ideals and courtesies as his half brothers and half sister. Yet he was still reminded, that no matter how much love his lord father showed him, he was still a bastard.

"A bastard's a bastard!"

Jon had come a long way since his low birth. He'd become a valiant warrior, fought against demons and visions he was told about only in stories as a boy, became 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He'd faught bravely for Sansa and his family for their home, Winterfell, away from the Bolton bastard. He became the King in the North, a title last held by his beloved brother: Robb.

So he found it strange, despite coming so far in his life, that the feelings of being a bastard son still haunted him.

The shame he felt when he first entered the lord's chamber (under Sansa's presistence) had overwhelmed him to the point where he had to get out. He couldn't stand in his father's rooms, rooms that should have held King Robb and his pretty foreign wife and all their babes. The room that should have housed Sansa, the last true born child of Eddard Stark.

 

Instead it was given to him. A low born boy, a man not worthy... a bastard.

Sansa had found him in the yard the next morning. The sun was barely rising in the sky, the bitter air cold against his cheeks.

"Couldn't sleep?" She'd asked, coming to stand next to him.

Jon looked down and brought his hands to the railing. "Aye."

Silence drifted between them. Comfortable now that they'd gotten over the worse and won their home back. Their relationship was still fragile, niether quite knew how to act around the other, both taking their time in reading each other. Jon felt he couldn't grasp a clear reading on her, he'd conjure up some idea of how she was feeling and then would quickly counter it with another the longer he tried.

"Do you suppose we'll ever get used to it?" Sansa asked.

Jon brought his gaze over to her. She was staring down at the yard as well, her cheeks bit pink from the winter wind flowing around them and between them.

"To what?" He replied.

Sansa looked over to him and tilted her head. "To the ghosts that seem to haunt this place. I'd thought after defeating him and taking Winterfell back it'd be easier." She broke her gaze and looked back down to yard. "Instead it seems even harder to breathe now."

He looked back down to the yard as well and saw in his mind a memory of himself, Robb and Theon running and chasing each other. Pretending to be knights of some sort he was sure, fighting against all that was evil, win tourneys and the love of a beautiful queen.  
He'd decided then, in that moment, that Robb would have wanted him to be happy. Robb would have wanted both of them to embrace their home again and make it what it was back when they were little; their sancutary.

Jon reaches out for Sansa and holds her in front of him like he did just a few nights prior. He gazes down at her, their heights at a match and gives a nod. "We live for them now, Sansa. We live."

Sansa gives a small smile and brings her arm to hook with his. He turns around so they both face down at the yard. It's when he's reminiscting another memory, this one of Arya, when he feels her head rest against his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

The raven arrives 2 moons later. It is from Daenerys Targaryen, requesting the King in the North's presence in Dragonstone.

He wants to throw the letter out at first, he has no time to acquaint himself with another Sourthern king or queen when he has a war to prepare for.

It's Sansa that brings him to his senses. She reminds him that she's heard the Targaryen queen has dragons, three of them, that will surely help their cause. Davos, sitting to his right, nods in agreement.

"Dragonglass, your grace." The man mutters, almost to himself.

Three days past before Jon, Davos, and a handful of Northern men make their way down south. He'd named Sansa in command while he was gone, requesting she inform him of any news or information that is to come in his absence. Feeling a little guilty for leaving his sister when there was a danger just beyond the wall.

"We'll be fine." Sansa assured him. "You're leaving Ghost with me, I'll be fine."

 

Jon nods and reaches out to hug her, not caring if it proper or not. She hesistates a moment, before he feels her squeeze back.

Time seemed to have fast forward the moment he'd laid eyes on Daenerys Targaryen. A small, lovely, little thing. Her hair shone bright silver, her eyes bright lilac. It didn't take him long to become enamored with her. Her knowledge of battles and conquering only added fuel to the fire that seemed to have brewed between them.  
It was clear to him that an attraction was shared between them. But neither had acted upon it, she insisting he bend the knee and north to her, he insisting she bring herself and dragons in a fight against the long night.

No, they don't act on it at first. Not until she loses one of her dragon, one of her children, to the night king. She's inconsolable at first, a side he's positive not many see of her.

He comes to her with the best intentions, to try to console the unbreakable queen.

She kisses him first and he loses all will. He makes her forget the pain, even just for a brief period of time. He brings her pleasure when all she feels is emotional pain.

They continue on, learning things about each other, Jon sharing secrets he hasn't shared since Ygritte.

She's something else, this little Dragon Queen. She tells him of her lost love Drogo, her tales as Khaleesi leave him angry and full of respect all at once. She even tells him of a red door that she still dreams about. Of a son that never was.

He's completely lost within her, and in the moments alone with her he can forget. He can forget all the things of past. He can forget the night king, the impending doom that forever hangs over their heads, forget his duties and commands. Just lose himself in Daenerys.

Of course, like all things in Jon's life, it eventually comes crashing down.

It's when they're on the road up to fight in the North.It's in the form of a letter with a Direwolf seal on it. He quickly recognizes the writing as Sansa's. She'd written him one and off these past few moons, keeping him informed of things back at Winterfell. Her last letter from him was one of great news, his brother Bran and sister Arya had returned. The wolves were back.

But this letter, this letter brought nothing but the oh so familar feeling of shame and guilt.

He was not Jon Snow, he was not Jon Stark. Rather, he was Jon Targaryen. Aemon Targaryen according to his sister. a funny and cruel thing, his first thoughts, to be named after a knight I so wanted to become.

_No_ , he thought, _I am not Aemon Targaryen._ He thinks of the old blind maester of the Night's Watch. _I am not Aemon Targaryen_

4 days pass before he confesses the letter's contents to Daenerys in her tent.

 

She is quiet at first, sitting at the edge of the bed. She'd gotten up to grab a cup of wine to share between the two of them after they had just coupled. He didn't come to her rooms to do such a thing, it was odd and unnatrual, but his body worked before his mind.

Her back is to him, he cannot read her expression but notices her shoulders tense immediately.

"Who can confirm this?" She asks, not turning to look at him.

"My sister speaks of Howland Reed bearing witness to my mother in the Tower of Joy. My father... Ned Stark, holding me beside her body."

Daenerys keeps herself away from him, still not bothering to turn to look to him. ``And do you believe such a thing?"

He's quiet, unsure of how to answer. Finally he responds: "I'm not sure."

She finally turns to look at him. She so beautiful, her hair free from her braids, her eyes wide, her lips parted just so. "This changes a great many things, Jon.

My whole life I felt alone. I had Viserys, yes but he was cruel. Even in his death I couldn't help but feel even more sad but not for the fact he died, no, he deserved to die. It was the fact that I was truly alone then. No other Targaryen. It fell on me."  
Daenerys stands up from the bed and turns to face him. Her face is different, Dany is now gone. Instead a queen stands in front of him, her face stern. "It falls on me to take what is rightly mine, that belongs to my blood. I have fought long and hard for this and I will not lose it when I'm so close to having it."

Jon begins to feel a small panic rise within. He stands up, still naked from their time together in bed. He reached for his small clothes and throws them on, tying them together when he finally looks to her. "If you're worried about me wanting that bloody thing you needn't. I have no need to sit on the iron throne. I've heard what it does to people, and I want no part of it."

She doesn't flinch. Instead she squares her shoulders. "I thought to bring marriage to the table, to truly unite the North and the South as it once was."

Daenerys purses her lips together and shakes her head. "But that won't do."

"We don't even know if it's true." Jon responds.

"Why would your sister lie about something like this?"

"My sister found out from Howland Reed."

"And is this Howland Reed to be trusted?" Daenerys raises an eyebrow to him.

He remembers his father talking about Howland Reed. Stories he'd once so fiercly believed in as a boy, tall tales. He remembers Ned talking of Howland's character, how so loyal and honest Howland Reed was.

No, there was no way he would lie about this.

Daenerys takes his silence as confirmation. She turns away from him and takes a few steps away. "I want you to leave." She says.

"Aye, I will." Jon responds.

"Not just to your tents Jon, I want you to leave me and never come back."

"Daenerys-"

"Your Grace." She corrects. She turns back to look at him. "We will discuss more in the morning when I don't feel the need to throw you to Drogon."

So he leaves to his rooms, lays in his bed and feels the sadness, the shame and the guilt.

A bastards a bastard.  
*

 

It's the Imp, Tyrion, who comes for him in the morning. He brings a glass of wine and pushes it towards Jon. "Drink. It helps." He offers.

Jon had barely slept throughout the night. His mind was running far faster than he could comprehend each thought. But it all came down to why.

Why did his father, Ned, because he'd always be his father, lie to him on such a matter. Why did Lyanna Stark run away with such a man? Why did Rhaegar Targaryen fall in love with the She-Wolf. Why

"How one must feel, waking up with a new father and newly found mother. I've always known it was too out of character for the honourable Ned Stark to do such a thing to his lady wife." Tyrion says, walking to the end of Jon's bed. "You look miserable."

Jon's sure he does. He can feel the bags beneath his eyes, his throat dry and his body parched. He reaches over and takes the wine from Tyrion and takes a deep drink.

"Any more surprising news from my former lady wife? Perhaps I'm a Targaryen as well? Maybe my true father a Tyrell? That would so burn my sister, me the imp brother! Due to inherit High Garden!"

Jon doesn't respond, instead he takes another deep drink. He holds the cup between his hands, staring off towards the wall. "I suppose she wants to take me to Drogon."

Tyrion is silent for a moment.

"Your grace intends no such thing. In fact, I'm sure she's a bit glad."

Jon scoffs. "I'm sure of it." He replies with sarcasm.

"Drink the rest of your wine." Tyrion says walking back towards the door. "Meet us in the meeting tent, we will discuss further matters there. Oh and Snow,"

Jon looks up to Tyrion, standing before the flap of his tent entertance. Tyrion opens and closes his mouth and gives his head a shake before leaving. Whatever he meant to say he decided against it.

 

Just a short time after Jon finds himself standing in front of Queen Daenerys on her make-shift throne. To her left stands Tyrion and to her right stands Missendei, both have their hands cups in front of them.

Daenerys sits with her back straight, her eyes seem a different shade of purple as she stares down at Jon.

He takes a small step towards her and looks up to Daenerys. The four of them don't speak a long while before Daenerys sighs.

"I've given thought about the new information that was presented to me last night." She says, her eyes still and face silent, not giving away any emotion. "And I've come to a decision."

Jon is silent and he waits.

"I've decided," Daenerys stands. "I've decided not to feed you to my dragons. I had thought about them burning you to see if you were truly a dragon, but remembered of the story you told me. You've been brought back to life once already. I highly doubt it will work again, with no magic around here."  
"I have no need for the North to fight me for burning their King. I'm aware you haven't told them that you've bent the knee. You must think me a fool for thinking I wouldn't be aware of such a thing. But I'll forgive you for that." She continues.

She takes one step. "I've worked a long time to get where I'm at. I've lost so much for what I've wanted. I can't risk to lose it all, even on your word that you wouldn't.  
"If it's true, all true, I will not kill you on my brother's honour. Instead, I will name you my heir. But, you are to stay in the North. You are not to step a foot in the South without my word that you are welcome."

"So you are to banish me to the North and leave me to a cause that you know will make it's way down here. We are to die without your help and you still wish for us to call you Queen?" Jon asks, a flash of anger rides in him.

"I will help with the cause. I have seen those demons with my own eyes and understand what great power that Night King holds. If whispers serve me true, the small folk talk of seeing a night Dragon. One of my children. You would best believe I will fight for revenge for taking something so close to me.

 

"It is after that we've decided things will change. The original offer we were to bring to the table would be one of marriage but since these news I can no longer offer such a thing. No, I couldn't marry someone who I couldn't trust completely. Yes, you say you don't want the Iron Throne now, but Jon, there have been stronger men on that chair before and it has done wicked things to them."

Jon moved forward but Daenerys held a hand up. "I'm not finish dear nephew.

As you've been told, you are to remain in the North and step not a foot out of it unless I've invited you. And as I've told you before, the only children I will have alive in my life are my remaining dragons. I will need a heir, and you will supply me one. You are to marry a noble Northern woman to strengthen the union between Targaryen and Stark, the South and North, and lucky for you there are two. I would prefer the oldest of the both, as she is now the heir of Winterfell now that your dear, dear brother declined his rightful claim as King. I don't want to offend the North any more than I have already. We are family now afterall."  
It was a punch in the gut. The sound defeaning and hot the feeling hot to touch.

Jon let out a breath. "You are asking me to marry Sansa?! She is my sister!"

Daenerys raised her eyebrow as she stared up to him. "Sister? No, dear nephew. She is your cousin."

"It's unnatural! She was raised my sister!" He choked, cleanching his left fist at his side.

"Oh dear nephew," She spoke, "It's in your blood."

Daenerys was calm throughout the entire exchange. She barely flinched when Jon moved closer to her, that's when he noticed the Unsullied soldiers step forward from the showers, four of them, each pointing their spears to him in a matter of seconds.

He took another breath, willing himself to calm down like the woman across from him. "Why send me away?" He asked.

"Why send me away back to the North where I can raise an army and fight your claim? A bastard I may still be, but Rhaegar Targaryen was my father, the true and rightful King of Westeros. I'd have a claim if I wanted!"

"Oh, I'm sure you wouldn't do it. You may be Rhaegar's son, but you've only just found out. You were raised by the honorable Lord Eddard Stark. I've been told it was honor that got him killed and it is the very same honor that runs through your veins. You will do as your told because you will see it as your duty-"

"I would just as well see my honor and duty as your husband!-"

"Because the people would love you more!" Daenerys' face and facade cracked just a little. Fear and anger mixed in wild emotions on her face, flashed in her eyes. "The people will hear the Targaryen name and see a Stark face. They will love you more than me, they will cast me aside as the Mad King's daughter! They will look to you for their advice and leadership and I cannot have that, and I will not have that. I will come to these people showing that I've given mercy to those around me. I will defeat the Lion Queen that sits on my throne keeping it warm for me, I will come to the people as their savior and they will love me and love me alone."

It was then that Jon saw a flash of Aerys in her face. Her face was the very picture he'd imagined when he was told the stories of Aerys, the mad King, telling his guard to burn them all. It brought Jon sudden clearity. He couldn't ever have brought her true happiness. Only a chair made of iron could do such a thing.

"I won't force Sansa to do anything she doesn't want. She's been through enough."

He spoke after a heavy silence between them. He looked beyond the Queen's shoulders and saw Tyrion shift, uncomfortable. He then saw Tyrion square his shoulders and move to clear his throat.

"If I may, my grace." Tyrion spoke behind Daenerys.

Daenerys kept her gaze on Jon. "You may." She replied.

 

"I believe it would offend a great matter of people if we were to force Sansa's hand. Jon Snow is right on one thing, the poor lady has been through enough."

"Haven't we all, Hand?" Daenerys asked.

"Yes, your Grace, but poor Sansa has an entire Northern kingdom to defend her and well, I'm not sure about you, but I'd rather not lose my throat to the wolves."  
Daenerys brought her head to look over her shoulder to Tyrion. She waiting a beat before looking back to Jon. "Very well. Leave to Winterfell now and convince her of what we ask. Convince her this is for the best of the realm and let her know that if the decision is not reached in my favor I will have no choice but force my hand."

Jon furrowed his brows together. "And what would that entail your Grace?"

"We shall see if you really are a Dragon with Drogon's supplying the fire."

Her voice was cold, her stare was colder.

 

Gone were those sweet moments shared between the two of them. Gone were Daenerys Stormborn and Jon Snow, lovers and friends.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing to do with ASOIAF/GOT

  
Ever since returning home, before taking it back with Jon, Sansa hadn't been able to sleep. She can't remember the last time she was able to sleep a full night, was most likely the day before she found out the Lannisters had taken her father to the dungeons. Or the night before her dear sweet Lady was taken away from her much too soon.

It's no surprise that Sansa awakens quite early from the fitful short sleep she was having. Somewhere deep down she thought the nightmares and panic would stop, having taken back her home under Stark banners was supposed to help bring her a little bit of peace in a messy, messy world.

Instead ghosts were to haunt her in every corner. Sometimes Sansa would swear she'd catch a glimpse of her lord Father or Lady mother watching her down the corridor. Or maybe even Robb, a man grown, watching her with the same Tully eyes she had.

She couldn't even find peace in her room. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes her poor dear sweet Rickon would stand in front of her. Not in the body that they had buried in the crypts, but in the body of her last memory of him. So small, so little... arrows still plastered all over.

Sansa sighs and shakes her head. She brings her hands to her face and runs them down, the coolness of them bringing a little comfort.

_I must live for them_ She thinks. _Just like Jon said, we live for them now._

It is a mantra she repeats to herself constantly. Especially when she awakes from her nightmares of a bloodied Ramsey Bolton, reaching for her and taunting her 'There's still a part of me that will never leave you Sansa Bolton' He says as his hands leave bloody trails all over her body, pinching her and grasping at what little flesh he can.

She says it to herself when she wakes up with sobs racking her body. Her lungs, full of panic and heat, gasping for a proper breath.

"I must live for them." Sansa whispers to herself before sitting up in bed.

Ghost, who lays beside her as her constant bed companion, raises his head to look over to her. She manages a small smile and reaches out to pet his head. Thank the Gods Jon left you with me. 

"Good boy." She says before turning over to stand up off the bed. 

The room is chilled and she is in her small clothes. She walks across the room to pull a blue wool dress out. She's quick to lace herself in it, her fingers working from years of practice, and once down she reaches for her cloak and furs.

Once dressed she pulls her hair into a quick braid and runs her hand down it. Once satisfied she pulls it over her left shoulder to dangle in the front. 

"Ghost," She calls. "To me boy."

The direwolf is silent as he gently steps off her bed and together they leave her room.

She's relieved to see her Lady Knight vacant from her usual spot in front of her room. It had taken some convincing from herself that Ghost was more than enough protection and that Brienne needed her rest.

The castle has been on constant alert since Jon's departure almost 4 moons ago. Jon had sent a raven, asking for all fighting able men and women to accompany him and the large army he'd been able to gather with the Dragon Queen's help to fight against the Long Night.

Jon's raven had also requested a small handful of men be left to guard the castle and to have Winterfell ready for whatever awaited them.

Her brother Bran had told her more stories, horrific images flashing in her head. Jon fighting such an evil made her sick, no she couldn't handle to lose more kin... not when she just found more.

Bran and Arya's arrivals had given Sansa a small token of peace. She was positive she and Jon were the last two Starks alive in the world. With their return home, it had doubled the Starks name of survival.

Bran arrived first. 

It was the middle of the night, Sansa tossing and turning, when she heard a commotion outside. She clutched at Ghost in fear, had the Night King made his way to Winterfell?

Was this the night she was to truly die?

Ghost removed himself from her grasp and ran to her door, scratching at it like he was under some spell.

Sansa reached for her cloak and furs and wuickly threw them on. She opened the door and Ghost dashed out, running as fast as she could remember her Lady running down the halls. She gave a gulp and stepped out of her room, scared that Lady Brienne considered the wommotion downstairs dangerous enough to leave her post at Sansa's door.

She clutched her cloaked tighter around herself, aware now that she only wore her smallcothes underneath. Before she could make her decision on whether or not to turn around to change one of her ladies, also still in her smallclothes, came running around the corner.

"Lady Sansa!" She exclaimed, her face red from running. "It is your brother!"

"Jon!?" Sansa exclaimed, fear striking in her heart. "What has happened?!"

"No! Not Jon, your Bran!"

She was truck by shock. "Bran?" She heard herself whisper.

"Yes, my lady. He says he is Brandon Stark of Winterfell."

An imposter Sansa thinks. Her heart is beating fast and adrenaline is begins to course through her veins. "Where is he?"  
"They've brought him to the Hall." Her lady maid replies.

Sansa turns around and walks back into her room. Her lady maid follows and Sansa reaches for a random dress, throwing it on, not bothering to lace completely. Her lady maid holds her cloaks for her and helps her replace them on her body.

"There's something else my Lady..." Her lady maid, Lyssa says.

Sansa stops and looks to her. "What is it?"

"He is not alone." Lyssa whispers. "He brings a girl claiming to be Meera Reed... and another."

Sansa's brows come together in confusion. "Who?"

"The Kingslayer."

* * *

 

Sansa walks into the Great Hall with her shoulders squared and her chin up. She was the Lady of Winterfell now, Sansa Stark, the last surviving child of Eddard and Catelyn Stark. Her brother was the King in the North, and this was her home. 

Her facade broke when she walked in. 

Seeing her brother Bran, sitting in the middle of the hall with a girl to his left, Ghost to his right and the Kingslayer standing off in the corner with Lady Brienne, it had broke her walls.

Forgetting her role, Sansa went running towards her brother, so small sitting on the floor.

Tears ran down her face and she reached for him, pulling him close and holding him closer. "I can't believe it" She kept repeating, holding tighter. 

"I can't believe it." She pulled away from him, her face wet with tears, to look at him. It was Bran. Gods above, it was Bran.

He was nearly a grown man now. His face, lost all of his child and baby fat. His eyes, the very same Tully blue her and Robb shared was shared also with her younger brother. He wore dirty furs, but she didn't care, for she pulled him closer to her again.

"Oh Sansa," She heard him choke. "Sansa, there's so much to tell you." 

Sansa pulled away from him and nodded, unable to put together a proper sentence for fear of losing herself completely to tears.

She managed and smile and choked out, "Yes. Brother, we have so much to talk about."

Sansa had Bran brought up to his old rooms, his lady friend Meera followed, despite not saying much to anyone. She nodded to confirm she was indeed Howland Reed's daughter 

"Why would I lie about that?" She asked, and Sansa believed her.

Sansa called for Bran and his companion to each have a bath and was almost mortified when Meera said she'd have one in Bran's room as well. She almost spoke up to tell her it was hardly proper but decided against it. The world was clouded with impending doom, who was she to decide what was proper and improper anymore?

She left the room to allow the two to bathe and rest, promising Bran she would return at first light and then they would talk. 

Sansa had just began her walk back to her room when she was suddenly reminded of Jaime Lannister. There he stood, side by side with Lady Brienne, in front of Sansa's doors.   
Ghost, who had followed her throughout the whole ordeal, took a step in front of her and she saw his shoulders bunch up high, appearing even bigger than he already was. 

Brienne's shoulders tensed and she took a step in front of Jaime. "Lady Sansa. It was Lord Jaime that saved Bran and Meera from death with White Walkers. He's told me the story himself and I believe him."

Sansa was quiet, her eyes flickering back and forth between the two.

"He is a man of honour." Brienne said. "I've seen it."

"A Lannister." is all Sansa says. 

"Yes, but my Lady.."

"I would remind you Lady Brienne, it is his sister who sits on the Iron Throne. She knows Westeros is at war with the Night King, yet she sits pretty on that chair and leaves us."

"Yes my Lady, but his actions have proven otherwise. He is a man of honour. Please, my Lady."

Sansa is staring at the Kingslayer who has remained silent. He stares back at her and Sansa can't help but feel Brienne is telling some truth. It is a stirring in her gut, a comfirmation stirring within.

"He is not to be seen in these walls. He can stay with the Freefolk, outside." Sansa says, grabbing Ghost by the scruff and pulling. Ghost releases the tension in his shoulders and together they walk past the two and into her room.

It was no surprise that Lady Brienne stood at her door the next morning, pleading with Sansa that the Kingslayer had changed. He repented for his sins by saving Bran, making up for the evil deed he'd caused her poor brother.

Sansa dismissed Brienne in her cold voice and told her to not speak of such a thing when she'd only just gotten her brother back. "I've done all I can, that man is not welcomed in Winterfell. He can stay with the Freefolk or go and fight with the rest."

Brienne nods and leaves Sansa as she and Ghost go to Bran.

They talk for many hours, each sharing their stories of their pasts. Bran's leaves her confused and full of doubt. She had little thought of magic as a child, but what can she say now? Her own brother was brought back from the dead, dragons fly high in the sky and a man turned cold is fighting the living.

"Arya will come home." Bran says, snapping her out of whatever thoughts she was having. "I know it."

Sansa mutely nods, refusing to completely believe her sister were alive.

"Sansa... there's something else."

It is then that Sansa's world is tilted once more.

She is told that her bastard brother is not her brother at all, but her cousin. Her Aunt Lyanna ran off willingly, the stupid girl, to be with Rheagar Targaryen. Together they made a child, the last Targaryen in Westeros, before Daenerys sailed over.

Her father harboured such a dark and deep secret for so long. Keeping his word to his dying sister's last wish. He saved and protected Jon, raised him Stark.   
A breathing dragon, here in Winterfell, who knew.

True to his word, Arya returns home to Winterfell a fortnight later. She is grown, not as tall as Sansa, but womanly none the less. 

She arrives on horseback in the early morning. Sansa is standing where she Jon stood, looking over the yard. She feels her heart crack at the sight of her younger sister and quickly runs down the stairs and over to Arya.

Arya jumps off the horse and into Sansa's arms. Her shoulders shake with quiet sobs and her grip is tight around Sansa. 

She's not sure how long they stand together, in the yard, crying and holidng one another, but it is her lady maid, Lyssa, who find them and bring them back to Sansa's room.   
Arya bathes there and after they walk, together arm in arm, to Bran's room. Together the 3 Starks lay in Bran's bed, Meera sits at the end of the bed. They don't leave for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, deep apologies for the spelling mistakes and grammar  
> I ain't lying when I say I haven't written anything in a long time! 10 years come and gone since I've been in school (Yes, I'm old haha)


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing with ASOIAF/GOT
> 
> enjoy!

Since Jon's departure Sansa had made it her goal to have the castle ready at all times to house however many would need to be housed. Jon wrote in his last letter (before she sent the most important letter of her life) that he requested having Winterfell ready at any moment in case they needed to seek refuge there.

He never explained how the fighting was going, he never mentioned in any of his letters that they were even at war with such magic. Sansa supposed it was to keep her mind safe, always asking her to be ready but never mentions what for.

In a way she's upset he doesn't find her strong enough or maybe even old enough to handle it, but she's overall grateful he leaves her one less stress to worry about. She has a duty to serve and does her best each day.

Her newly found again siblings bring her the much needed bit of happiness she'd been missing in some time. Of course, it's almost short lived and died out when she hears of Littlefinger's arrival to Winterfell.

He comes with a small part, flanked with about 50 knights of the Vale. He tells her the rest of his men have gone to join Jon in their cause, him seeking out shelter down in Winterfell and offering his 20 knights as further protection for the noble family of Winterfell.

Sansa knows there's more to his story. She's not that young naive girl, to trust him so blindly. Littlefinger always had more to his story.

I must keep an eye on him at all times. She thinks to herself as she goes over the inventory at Jon's desk. She comes to his room every afternoon and sits at the very same desk her Lord Father once sat and she goes over everything Winterfell has to offer.

She needs to make sure Winterfell is always well equipped. They will not lose this home again, that she must make sure.

The numbers begin to blur in front of her when she hears a knock to the door. Ghost is up in a flash and alert. "Come."

The door opens and it is Lady Brienne who pokes her head through. "Lady Sansa. Lady Arya had just coming running up and yelled for me to catch you than took off again.

There seems to be a commotion down in the yard."

Sansa pinches her brows together, "Is everyone okay?"

"There seems to be no danger, my Lady. Fear not, you have me and your beast to guard you. I'm also told Lord Baelish has not left his chambers." Brienne whispers the last part.

Sansa nods. "Very well." She stands up from the desk and follows Brienne out the door, Ghost trailing behind.  
It's when they get to the bottom of the stairs that Ghost bolts off in the very same manner he did when Bran was returned home. Sansa can't help the burst of hope that burns in her chest. Had another returned home? Jon would be the only one left to do so.

Suddenly her hope was snubbed out. Was it happening? What was the plan now? Was her home about to become refuge to whoever was left that survived the Night King?  
Her steps quicken and she hears Arya yelling before she sees her.

She rounds the corner when she sees her sister throw herself in Jon's arms. Sansa looks around and finds just Davos and 4 Northern soldiers, all still on horseback while they watch Winterfell's princess hug the King tight.

She watches her sister and her half brother turned cousin hug each other and hold onto each other. Sansa feels like she should turn away, give them this privacy, allow them to mourn and feel joy at the sight of one another, but she can't turn away. The sight gives her another push of happiness in her clouds.

Jon finallys pulls away from Arya and holds onto her shoulders while he takes a look at her. "I didn't know what to think." He admits to her. "But I knew you were alive. I knew it."

Arya, who has silent tears down her face, says nothing and nods. 

Jon pulls Arya back into his arms and places a small kiss ontop of her head. It's then that he notices Sansa standing in the corridor. Sansa notices his body tense and she feels a sudden shame. Was he angry with her about the letter? It was a truth that had to be told.

Control yourself Sansa She scolds herself. Control

He pulls away from Arya and nods towards Sansa. Sansa returns the nod and begins to walk forward towards the group of men and her sister. 

"What news do you bring?" She asks Jon. "Are you alright? Are the men alright?"

Jon breaks eye contact from Sansa and looks to Arya. "Where is Bran?" He asks.

"He's in his room." Sansa replies before Arya can. "He's with Meera Reed."

Sansa sees him flinch at the mention of the Reed name. She goes to make a comment but it's Sir Davos that cuts her off. 

"My Lady, if you don't mind. There's important matters to discuss at great haste. Allow Jon to see his brother while you and I meet in the hall. I'll fill you in on what's happening in the North."

Sansa's watching Jon, who walks around her with Arya on his arm. She hears her sister tell Jon he was a fool before they round the corner. A fool for what? Sansa wants to ask, instead she turns to look at Davos and nods. 

"Very well."

 

*

 

Sansa sits with Sir Davos in the hall, the two alone before Lady Brienne enters a few moments later. She whispers to Sansa that Littlefinger is looking for her, Sansa nods and asks for Brienne to tell him she will come and speak with him immediately. 

"Let him know the King of the North is back. I will tend to matters at hand and find him right after. Also, please send for ale and wine for myself and Sir Davos. I'm sure the King will join us after, send enough for him as well."

Brienne nods and leaves the room, leaving Davos to recount how it was going with the war.

He's grateful that she's sent Jaime Lannister and the small army he managed to convince to leave Cersei. He admits it was hard for the Dragon Queen not to have him burned on the spot, only his brother Tyrion swearing on his word that Jaime had done good and will serve himself directly to her.

Sansa arches an eyebrow, "And she let him live?"

"Well, the more men to help fight the better. Even the Queen can see that, although I'm sure she'll have him dealt with after this is all over."

"So, there's an end in sight then?" Sansa asks. 

Davos is slow with his reply. "There is always a time for hope, my lady."

A server enters the room with two mugs of ale and goblet of wine for Sansa. She places them down between Davos and herself and as she leaves Jon and Ghost enter from another door across the room.

Sansa doesn't stand, instead stays seated as Jon walks with Ghost across and takes a seat at the table beside Davos. He reaches for the mug and takes a long swig.

The air between the three of them in uncomfortable and Sansa feels like she's being left out of something quite important, which drives some irritability in her. She's careful to keep it to herself, to keep her face placid. Give nothing away

"Where's Arya?" Sansa asks.

Jon doesn't meet her eyes, looking across the room. "Bran asked her to stay with him while we talked."

"What's wrong Jon?" Sansa asks, taking a small sip of her wine. 

Jon sighs and looks over to Davos before bringing his gaze to Sansa. "Daenerys knows of the letter you sent. She knows the contents of it."

Sansa takes a quick breath. "And?"

"She means to burn me." He replies.

"Burn you?" Sansa says. She brings her hands to her lap and clenches them into fists. "She means to burn you while we're fighting for the realm?"

"She's afraid Jon will fight her for the Iron Throne after all is said and done." Davos speaks up taking a drink of his ale. 

"Well surely she knows that's not what you wish." Sansa looks between the two mean seated across from her. "She knows you mean to stay in the North, right? To stay with your family?"

Jon is silent before he gives a shake of his head. "According to Howland Reed she is my family." He mumbles.

"Jon. We're your family." Sansa says, her voice thick.

He looks over to her and nods, silent.

The trio sit again in silence before Davos coughs into his fist and stands up. "Excuse me your Grace and my Lady. If it's alright with you both, we've ridden hard to get her quickly and I fear I'm not as young as I used to be. If I could rest, it'd be greatly apprectiated."

Sansa sensed Jon and Davos had talked prior about the topic of conversation she was sure Jon was going to bring up. Jon only nods to Davos and he's gone quite quickly.

"What's happened?" Sansa asks. "You've barely glanced at me."

Jon brings his gaze back to her and gives his head a shake again. "There's more to what Daenerys has said.

"If this is true, if what you've told me is true, it changes many things."

Sansa reaches out for his hand and Jon pulls away as if he's been burned. Sansa can't help the hurt that flashes across her face. She takes a moment before she speaks. "It doesn't have to Jon. You are still of our blood. Lyanna was my aunt-"

"No." Jon cuts her off and stands up. He takes a few steps away from her, his front facing away from her.

"Yes, Jon! Bran has told us this changes nothing. You have the blood of the wolf, you can still rule in Winterfell, the men will still follow you. You have the Stark face, a different father yes, but a Stark still." Sansa goes quiet before she continues: "I will still follow you as King."

This seems to break Jon for he turns to face her quickly. His face is pinched in anger and he slams his hands on the table. "I don't care about the damn title!" He yells.

Sansa isn't quick enough to stop herself from jumping at the sound of his fists hitting the table. Her walls come down and she is filled quickly with anger. "Then please tell me what it is that's got you like this?!" 

Sansa pushes herself up and away from the table, her eyes hot with anger on Jon. "You're keeping me the dark again. I thought I did you a favour by sending that letter, I thought it your right to know that you had a mother, a mother that I've been assured by Bran loved you!

"You still have the support of the North, Jon."

Jon takes a step away from her and shakes his head. He gives a deep breath and then speaks: "Daenerys wants me to marry you."

Sansa isn't sure she heard him speak. She holds back the urge to ask him to say it again, instead she processes what's being said. 

"Marriage?" 

Jon doesn't say anything, nods. It's as if that's all his body knows how to do now. Nod and say nothing.

Sansa stares ahead to her brother turned cousin and takes in what he's said. After what feels like a several long moments she finally speaks. "You can deny this. You're the King in the North. You don't follow her lead."

Jon holds her gaze for a beat before he looks down to the ground. "I've bent the knee."

Sansa feels the breath draw out of her, feels as if her knees may suddenly buckle and she will land on the ground in a heap. Her body begins to vibrate. "You've bent the knee?" She asks, her voice low.

"Sansa, I had to." Jon pleads, taking a step to her. "We are at war with magic, the only thing that can defeat them is fire and dragonglass, something Daenerys has plenty of. She wouldn't have helped me if I didn't bend the knee."

Sansa closes her eyes. She sees Joffrey's twisted smile, feels Ramsey's cruel touch, and hear Cersei's bitter laugh. 

And almost all of that anger and pain and fright feels nothing compared to the feeling she is feeling now in this moment, having learned that everything she's fought for- everything Jon's fought for- gone. Under the mercy of another, once again.  
I am steel She thinks to herself.

She squares her shoulders and opens her eyes. Sansa keeps her face neuteral, not daring to show her anger or fright. Give him nothing and he will take nothing she thinks.

She moves to speak but decides against it. Instead she walks around the table and towards the door. She leaves the room and continues walking, even after hearing something break on the other side of the door. 

 

*

Sansa sits at the base of the Weirwood tree. 

Snow is falling around her, dancing in the air like small pearls she'd stitched in one of her favourite gowns all those years ago in Kings Landing. Things had been a mess, even then, but somehow it seemed a better memory of what she was given today.

Stop being foolish She chides herself. 

There are worse things she's survived. Sansa Stark is a survivor, she is moulded from her past to come out stronger. 

She thinks about the proposition as if she were Queen Daenerys herself. Why risk a the Northern King to marry and keep his position, to keep his army. After all is said and done, Jon could very well turn against her and fight for his claim on the Iron Throne, to fight against what's she requested. Perhaps even burn her... He is half Targaryen, he carries the dragon within as well.

It's his honour. Sansa knows he's been cursed with it just as her father before him. It flows through his blood and has taken ahold of him. In her youth it was a characteristic Sansa admired, a man honourable and kind. But in her years she has seen what honour has done first hand.

The image of her father's lifeless body flashes before her eyes. Then it's Jon, laying with his head rolling away from her.

She takes a shaky breath and closes her eyes. She couldn't allow that to happen to Jon, not after everything they've been through. He fought hard for her, fought hard with her.

Visiting every noble lord they could think of that would help them fight for their home back. His plan was to leave, leave south, maybe even further down across the waters to a foreign land.

But he stayed. He stayed for their home, he stayed for her. 

No, Sansa could not repay that with his body becoming charred.

Sansa leans her head back against the tree and feels the cold on her cheeks, she take a deep breath and feels the cold take root in her lungs.

This was her home. 

She was Sansa Stark, eldest surviving child of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, a child of the North, Lady of Winterfell. This was her home.

And she would do what she had to do for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, it's so weird. I'm obviously doing this for fun (I'm a SAHM who's child just began to have 2-3 hour long naps, WOO!) and before I even started I had doubts with how I'd write with Jon. I used to write a lot in high school, both fanfiction and my own fiction, and I just always struggled with writing from the dude's POV. 
> 
> It's just sooo weird that I'm totally struggling with Sansa's POV. She my favourite character (by far, pls don't die) and felt,going in, I'd have a good hold on her but I don't! Oh well, it's all for fun anyway! Hope you guys enjoyed!


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing ASOIAF/GOT

The next morning Sansa takes it upon herself to let Jon's parentage and their plans for marriage known. She writes who she can, signing as Sansa Stark the Lady of Winterfell. She tells Jon to sign beneath hers, explaining it would appear better if he signed beneath her, showing he meant to support the Stark name. She needed whatever she could take to convince the Northern Lords this was the right decision. She has them sent with whatever ravens they have left.

They're married beneath the Weirwood tree later that night. 

It's a small gathering. Ser Davos, Arya, Lady Brienne and Ghost gather around them as Jon takes off his black cloak and places it on Sansa's shoulders. It's nothing special, nothing grand, small and over very quickly.

Snow begins to swirl around them as they walk back towards the castle. Jon walks ahead with Ghost, quiet and keeping to himself. 

Sansa is walking with Arya, her arm linked with her smaller sister. 

Arya had a hard time when Sansa came back to find Jon in Bran's room. Meera and Arya were standing on each side of Bran's bed, and Jon at the foot. She said nothing as she moved close to the fire that was lit in Bran's room and she placed her hand close to the flames.

"I'll do it." She whispers, more to herself than anything, but she knows Jon hears.

"This is mad." Arya says from Bran's left. "Tell the witch to sod off. There's enough going on that the last thing we need is a wedding. Seven hells, you're his sister!"

"They're cousins." Bran speaks from his bed. "Jon Snow is our cousin." 

Arya shakes her head. "He's my brother. He'll be my brother until we're all cold in the ground." She looks down to the ground.

 

Jon is looking over to Arya and he gives a small smile. 

"Did you tell them?" Sansa asks. 

"Tell us what?" Arya replies.

"We've bent the knee."

Jon sighs and shakes his head. "I did what I had to do for us all. It's our only chance to survive this.

"I made a vow to protect you Sansa, and the same goes you Bran and for you Arya. I will protect you, I promise. I will do what I have to do to keep us together and to keep us alive. For Robb, Rickon, for your mother. For.. for your father."  
Sansa can see he struggles saying the word father. She feels her heart give a small clench and she turns away from him once more, her eyes looking in the flames. Maybe if she looks hard enough she can see the future like she was told the red woman once did.

"We are forever in your debt, Jon." Bran says. "I know it must have been hard. A great deal of responsibility is placed on your shoulders but you've made a choice none of us could really have done.

"We all carry a responsibility now. I've seen what has happened and what can come.I'm ready to accept what I need to do now, and I hope you all eventually come to terms with yours."

Arya looks down to her brother, "What do you mean by that?" 

Sansa watches as Meera places a hand on Bran's shoulder and gives a squeeze. She hears her brother, "There will be a time where we must play our part." is all he says.  
She feels Jon's gaze on her and she turns to look at him. His sad grey eyes bore into hers and she can't help the small smile that plays on her lips. She hopes it gives him whatever it is he needs in that moment.

"Do you remember mother telling us that snow on a wedding was always good luck?"

Sansa is brought back to the present and looks down to her younger sister. She can hear her mother clear as day, reciting to them as young girls to take snow as a good sign, despite some of the horrors Nan had tried to tell them. Sansa had made it a point to let it known that she'd be mortified if it snowed on her wedding day, just another silly comfort for the south she'd craved.

"Wasn't so lucky at my last one." Sansa says.

Arya doesn't respond, only brings her other hand to Sansa's arm to squeeze. "As much as I hate this, as much as I know you hate this, I know you've done it for the greater good of our family. I know that you've done it to keep us safe, to keep Jon safe."

Sansa feels her eyes wet and her throat cease. She now brings her hand to and places it on top of Arya's and gives a squeeze of her own, afraid that if she speaks she will lose the hold on herself.

"I'll kill her if you want." Arya whispers to her sister. "I can do it, I've done things like this before."

Sansa remembers some of the stories Arya had shared when she returned home. Walder Fray's face comes to mind, although this time his throat is slit and blood is pouring out. Sansa shakes her head no. "I can't have you risking yourself for something like this. What is done has been done for our family and for our home."

Arya is silent as they continue walking back into Winterfell. A dinner has been planned, nothing special or extravagant as they were at war and needed to preserve whatever they could. She'd heard Jon talking harshly with the cook when he'd mentioned a grand feast. 

"I've got men and women dying on a field and I'm having a wedding. There will be no feast, do you understand me?"

She can't see them, but she knows the cook is nodding, dumbfounded and most likely a little frightened. It's not very often Jon uses his authority in such a manner. He's normally a quiet King, listening and offering what he can. It used to drive Sansa mad, sitting next to him when smallfolk would come in and ask for things she knew she wouldn't grant. He was too soft.

Or maybe I'm just bitter goods now She thought to herself. 

The hall is filled with a small number of guests. Sansa spots the leftover Knights of the Vale and Petyr Baelish sitting in the middle of them at a table to the far left. She can't quite read his face, for he has it in a neutral state. It was a trait and technique she'd picked up from him and used it when she felt his eyes on him.  
Few Northern folk, mostly women and children, made up for the rest of the hall. Sansa thinks back to her last three weddings, and this is by far the smallest of all, yet it's the only one her family has been able to attend and the most, despite the reasoning, comfortable she's been.

Bran is sitting with Meera at a table just below the one her and Jon were to sit at int he front, and when they walk by Bran reaches his hand out to capture Sansa's. Sansa stops and looks down to her brother, who looks so much older now. A wise man.

"I'm proud." is all he says before he lets her hand go and she continues on, following Jon to the table. Arya takes a seat next to Bran.

Everyone else in the room stands as Jon and Sansa move to the front and stand behind their table. Two goblets of wine and two bowls of stew sit in front of them, steam rising from the meats and potatoes. 

Jon's eyes scan the room and he clears his throat before speaking, "We'd like to thank you for joining us on this day." He suddenly goes quiet with all the eyes on him, no doubt feeling a little guilty about the entire situation. 

"My father used to tell us that Northerners were different. We are loyal and we do what we can to protect one another." Sansa says, everyone, including Jon, turning their gaze on her. "I understand that this is something quite different for you all to witness. I know some of us, if not all of us are weary of the Targaryen name, but let me assure you, Jon is still half Stalk. He will do what he has to do to prove his loyalty and to protect you all.

"Today, in front of the Old Gods, Jon and I said our vows. We are now, sworn in the Godswood underneath the Weirwood tree, husband and wife. We have done what we have to do to protect our home and our people. Let it be known that Jon Snow is still the man our Northern Lords have turned to, still the man they've claimed King. A Targaryen may have fathered him, but it was Ned Stark that raised him."

Sansa watches the crowd ahead of her, careful to keep her face in place. I will not show them my discomfort. I will be what they need me to be.

It's a Northern woman who raises her mug high in the air. "May the Old Gods bless you both."

It takes a few moments before the majority of the room raises their mugs in the air. Jon goes to sit, the entire room following suit after.

The room is filled with murmers of everyone talking amongst themselves. Sansa reaches for her wine and takes a long drink, feeling it calm her nerves after her speech.  
"It won't that easy when the Lords read the letters." Jon says beside her. He's sitting straight in his chair, his wine and food untouched.

Sansa looks over to him. "It's something they will have to accept. You are the Lord of Winterfell now, relation to the Dragon Queen. Most want peace after so many years of fighting. Luck for you you carry Ned Starks face, they will see that before they see Targaryen."

Jon doesn't respond, instead he reaches for his wine and takes a drink. He places it back down and begins to eat his stew. She knows he's thinking of how they will accept that they've bent the knee. Sansa wants to tell them she's got a plan for that of her own, but keeps it to herself, hidden.

There is no dancing, there is no music. All eat what is given before them and the Lord and Lady of Winterfell is paid respect by those left behind while the Lords and soldiers of the North fight on. Sansa knows this bothers Jon, his men out there fighting while he sits inside, his belly full of hot stew and warm wine. But he continues on, doing his duty to keep everyone safe.

It's when Littlefinger comes to them that Sansa feels the need to retire. He's smiling like a worm, his hands placed behind his back once he stands in front of them. "My gracious congratulations to you both, Lord and Lady Snow."

He's angry, Sansa decides. She can see a glimpse of it in his posture, the way his words seem to slur on Snow. 

"It's Stark." Sansa speaks.

"My pardon my lady," Littlefinger continues, "I've never had the chance of seeing the husband taking his Lady Wife's name."

"Queen Daenerys pardoned Jon of his bastard name. He is a Stark, and I will keep my Stark name." Sansa says.

Petyr gives another smile. "It's like seeing the ghost of Ned and Catelyn sitting up here. I'm reminded of the very day." He looks back and forth between them. He moves to speak more but it is Sansa who cuts him off.

"Thank you, Lord Baelish. We take your warm congratulations to heart and will hold them there."

Jon tenses and Littlefinger nods and walks back to his table.

 

"I'm not sure about him staying here Sansa.." Jon says, his voice low enough for only Sansa to hear.

"Let me handle him Jon." Sansa says. "I will deal with him."

Jon looks over to Sansa and holds her gaze for a steady beat. He nods and goes back to his drink, watching the others in the room.

Sansa keeps her gaze forward as well, watching the others eat their stew and drink their ales and wines. She'd always envisioned her wedding as a grand thing as a girl, and here she is now, thrice wedded and all sombre events.

The irony, Sansa thinks, is that Jon is the very husband I would have envisioned as a girl. No, he doesn't have the long blonde hair she saw with her knight or prince, instead his locks dark and face long. But he is brave, he is a king, and he is strong. 

She is suddenly brought back to a memory, so long ago. Her father is in front of her promising to match her with a man is kind, brave, and gentle. 

Sansa lingers her gaze on her husband, who sits rigid and still to her right, and she thinks, no he's not the man her father thought of when he made her this promise. But her father installed these values in him nonetheless. He will not hurt me. I trust him Sansa thinks.

Her body is working faster than her mind and she suddenly finds her hand over Jon's. He looks over to her, his sad gray eyes confused. She manages a small smile and gives him a nod.

She wants to tell him she doesn't blame him for what's happened. She wants to tell him she feels oddly okay with their marriage. You will not hurt me, she thinks again. You will not hurt me.

It will have to do.

 

*

It's hours later that they sit in front of the fire in his solar. 

There is no bedding ceremony, Sansa senses everyone else in the room feel it awkward and decide against it. She's thankful, she's not sure how she'd handle having such a ceremony with Jon.

Instead they walk together towards his room, their steps slow. Jon holds the door open to her and turns around to lock it once they've entered.   
There are two cups of ale awaiting them on a small table by the fire. Jon goes to grab his and takes a seat, taking a deep long drink. Sansa follows suit, sitting to his left and reaching for her own ale. 

They drink and stare at the fire in silence, neither making a move to break the spell between them. They both ignore the bed behind them, suddenly the largest thing in the room. Sansa can feel her nerves tremble. Surely he wouldn't...

It is our duty She thinks to herself. Queen Daenerys lets him live as long as he supplies an heir.

It's as Jon reads her thoughts. He looks over to her and says: "We don't have to do this you know. I won't force you."

"I know." She says and takes a drink. 

"We can just sleep." he says.

Sansa looks at him and realises the deep bags that are under his eyes. His face is pale, his lips dry. When was the last time he slept? She wonders. Has he slept at all since arriving home? Has he slept at all since leaving Winterfell to meet with the Dragon Queen?

"Alright." Sansa says and moves to stand up. She walks to the left side of the bed and reaches in front of her to remove her cloak. She brings it forward and holds it in front of her body, unsure of where to put it.

"On the chair behind the desk is fine." Jon says. He's moved up to stand on the opposite side of the bed. His hands are working to untie his own furs and he holds them in front of himself as well. He doesn't move to place his on the desk, instead he places them at the end of the bed and Sansa realises they're the very ones she'd made for him at Castle Black.

She finds it endearing but she keeps it to herself. Instead she places her furs over of his at the end of the bed, suddenly scared that if she were to move away from the bed she would not return. 

"I can sleep somewhere else." Jon says. 

Sansa looks over to him and can clearly see the conflict. He's battling his nerves, unsure of how to handle the entire situation at hand while so clearly exhausted.

"They'll talk." Sansa replies.

"Let them." Jon shakes his head. "I could care less what they say."

"I don't feel safe doing that with Littlefinger on the grounds." Sansa says. No, she's sure Littlefinger is the middle of something, always plotting. She's not sure with who (she thinks of Cersei or maybe even Queen Daenerys herself) but she knows something is going on, and they can't risk him taking control of their delicate situation.

"You don't know him like I do." She says, holding his gaze.

He doesn't say anything, instead he moves forward and goes to lay on the bed, still in his clothes and on top of the furs. 

Sansa suddenly feels the weight of the room on her shoulders. She looks to her husband, such a strange sight, just few days prior he was her newly found cousin and just 6 moons before he was her half-brother.

Now they are married, their vows taken before the Old Gods he and her father had followed so close. She's not sure how to act around him. She knows what is to take place on this bed, whether it be now or later, she is to provide him an heir; an heir, not just for them and the North, but for the entire realm.

She moves slowly but eventually is laying next to him on top of his furs, still in her gown. The heat from the fire and the ale mixed in her belly makes allows her to feel comfortable, but she knows later on she will have to find refuge under the furs they lay on.

They don't speak, both have their gazes on the ceiling above them, as if the stone above were made out of something of great beauty, both refusing to remove their eyes from it.

Eventually she feels Jon reach his hand out to hers. His grip tightens and she turns to look to him.

His eyes, soft, are on her. "I won't hurt you.

"I meant what I said, back then. I'll do whatever I have to to protect you. You, Arya, and Bran. I'll protect you all, I promise." 

Sansa wants to tell him, once again, that no one can protect anyone. She's seen what happens to good people out in the real world. She's seen what has happened to honest men, and she doesn't want to believe him. But his eyes are wide and full of hope that she can't help but feel a tug in her chest. He means every word he is promising her, and it's then that she fully trusts him.

Jon has done everything he could so far, even going as far as marrying her to secure Winterfell as her home forever, to protect Winterfell and the people around her. 

A small part of her whispers her disdain for bending the knee but she quickly thinks over it. She will deal with that part later, for she has sworn herself to him under the Old Gods too. Sworn to protect him and Winterfell.

 

Sansa squeezes his hand in return. "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Apologies for the grammar and or spelling mistakes. I did try to go through and fix what I can. It's been a long, long time since I've written anything really. I hope you all enjoyed nonetheless.


End file.
